The Test
by MLaw
Summary: An AU story, relating to Illya's background as a young, greenhorn agent for the Soviet Military Intelligence Service known as the GRU.s, based on chapter 72 The Randomness of life! 'The Thin People.' #17 in the Illya series
1. Chapter 1

_"Mоварищ_Comrade,_"The KGB interrogator barked at him, grabbing a handful of blond hair in his hand, yanking the man's slumped head upwards with a jerk.

_"Вы скажете мне, что вы делаете шныряли Лубянка_you will tell me what you were doing snooping around Lubyanka."_

There was blood trickling from his nose and mouth as well as a laceration on his forehead. He looked up, trying to focus his blue eyes on the man's mouth.

_"Я не перехватывает Товарищ._I was not snooping tovarisch. Why can you not understand that? I am with military intelligence, we are on the same side."_

That earned him a stinging slap in the face, then another as he spat a mouthful of blood on the man.

"Come come, Comrade Kuryakin. You are agent of GRU, how could we possibly believe that you are up to nothing. Military intelligence is always sticking its big nose into business of secret police."

Comrade Vilnakin, I was merely walking past the building and nothing more.

"You call standing in front of Lubyanka for twenty minutes walking past?"

"Well, I suppose not. I was looking across the street at_ Detsky Mir_Children's World_, thinking of the privileged children playing there. How innocent and unaware they are of the world we live in."

"What is that supposed to mean, your talk could be interpreted as seditious."

"Interpret it the way you will, Comrade. I am a party member and serve the Soviet people. If such thoughts were a crime then most of the CCCP would be living in gulag or executed, would they not?"

The interrogators face went red at Kuryakin's audacity.

"_Я буду совать свои глаза, чертовски умный _I'll put your eyes out, fucking smart ass!"_ He raised a fist to strike the young Kuryakin again.

At that moment another agent entered the room, halting the blow and whispering into the interrogators ear.

The man's eyes opened wide as he dismissed the other, and surprisingly, unlocked the cuffs that bound Illya's wrists.

He tossed Illya a handkerchief." Clean yourself up, you are free to go."

"Just like that? Nothing else?" Illya snarled, wiping the blood and sweat from his face.

"You expect what... an apology? Ha! That is why your are GRU and not KGB. You are soft."

Illya rose from the chair, rubbing his wrists before he threw the dirty cloth in the man's face.

"I think not."

"You are a bold one Illya Kuryakin, with a mouth to match. Some day that boldness will make an end of you!"

"I was not looking for an apology, as I know your kind are not capable of common courtesy. Your's is a rude and arrogant lot. Now why am I being let go?"

"The Directorate found out you were here and demanded your release. Apparently they have an assignment for you Comrade. So you will get your chance to serve the Soviet people, again."

Illya turned away from him, walking through the doorway to be escorted upstairs and out of the yellow-bricked home of the KGB.

On the way in and now on the way out, he tried not to be obvious as he glanced about, taking in as many details as possible. His superiors no doubt had the layout of the prison, but any further information, he was sure, would be welcomed.

Though military intelligence and secret police both worked for the Soviet government they were constantly at odds with each other, vying for control over the world of covert operations. Today it seemed the pendulum had swung towards the Glavnoye Razvedyvatel'noye Upravleniye and not the secret police.

He walked out into the square, taking a deep breath of fresh air, considering himself lucky. The KGB were unpredictable and Illya reminded himself to keep a better watch for them.

The story he told them was the truth, he was merely staring across at the department store and had let his thoughts wander. That had been a mistake considering where he was standing. He would not make such an error again.

He turned, heading home but his thoughts dwelled on the Directorate now and wondered what it was they had in store for him. That information he would find out in the morning.

Until now his assignments had been merely courier work, but he supposed eventually he would be given a more permanent posting, perhaps out of the city. He sensed they thought of him as unacceptable material for an active agent in the field, in spite of his high marks...that he supposed was because of his tendencies to be a bit of a bookworm.

Those personality types did not always make for good covert operatives.

His hopes were to be assigned to the closed city of Gorky, there he could do his job quietly observing Soviet scientists at their work and stay under the radar. Being around the scientific community, even though he'd be spying on them, would be interesting and safe.

Illya was a young and green agent with no political affiliations or connections; this made him more expendable than was the case, and potential fodder for being used and disposed of if it suited the Directorate's needs. That was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

He headed home with a long sigh to the flat he shared with five miserable excuses for human beings.

One married couple who had the luxury of a room all to themselves, giving them privacy to make new Soviet Citizens...both of whom were clerks, and three others were gruff, menial workers. They all thought he was an orphaned student, given he was only seventeen, that, and the fact he was so skinny made him look even younger than his true age.

As usual he was late for supper and the pot was scraped clean. He ran his finger along the edge of it, licking and tasting what had been the contents. Potato, cabbage and turnips with a chaser of vodka, and a hint of meat this time...

The vodka always added a little zest to what would be a dull meal, but the addition of meat was a rarity.

Illya looked at the others as they milled about the small apartment, reading, whispering to each other, and as usual virtually ignoring him...not that he wanted to speak with this ignorant lot. He kept to himself and they to themselves and that suited him fine.

But tonight his hunger made him speak out, as he'd not eaten since the day before thanks to KGB.

_"Вы не могли бы оставить кусочек для меня_you could not have left a morsel for me? I give rubles to buy the food just like you, and how many times have I gone hungry because you all are greedy pigs. Maybe I will withhold my money and find my own food; I would probably get more to eat that way._" He lowered his voice to a near growl.

_"заткнись Куракин, вы знаете, соглашение, чтобы положить деньги в банк на продукты питания, в противном случае вы не живете здесь._shut up Kuryakin, you know the agreement is to put money into the pot for food, otherwise you don't live here."_ One of them snapped back.

_"Так что в драку в школе_so get into a fight at school,"_ Masha stepped up, pressing a finger to the cut on his forehead. His face and lip were obviously swollen. "_I will get a cold rag for you_," she offered.

"No thank you, I am fine." Illya pulled away at her touch, though her offer was a rare act of kindness. He would have rather had food than any ministrations from her, besides, he disliked people fussing over him that way.

"_Вы думаете, что специальные, потому что вы студент, что вы умнее нас_you think you are special because you are student, and you are smarter than us_." Vladimir Budayev suddenly snarled at him.

_"Оставьте мальчика быть Володя_Leave the boy be Voladya,"_ another looked up from his copy of Pravda, "_Он просто голодны, вы не можете винить его за то, что расстроены_ he is just hungry, you cannot blame him for being upset?_"

_"Когда ресурсы ограничены, необходимо принять даже некачественные подарки_when resources are limited, one must accept even substandard gifts._"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Illya went back at Budayev.

"You are the smart one, _student._ You figure it out."

"Beggars cannot be choosers, but even that was not a choice," Illya thought to himself, looking at the pot. What it all really meant was that Vladimir was just looking to pick a fight, that's what he always did, but he wasn't going let the bully's taunt lure him in.

Vladimir had a chip on his shoulder and disliked the young Kuryakin intensely and Illya avoided him as a rule, but had scuffles with him in the past. The man bore a few prison tattoos, and liked to make people think he was a member of the Russian mob, _the Vory V. Zakone,_ using that to scare and bully them. Illya knew otherwise, as the man was not mafia; he was hairy thug and nothing more.

Though Budayev was a big man, young Kuryakin was confident he could best him. His training from GRU had taught him to take down the largest of opponents and to kill with his hands if needed, but not tonight, he would let Vladimir's words fall to the wayside, and go unanswered.

Illya walked into the back room to the sound of laughter, closing the door behind him to prevent the others from seeing him lift a floor board beneath his cot, and removing his Tokarov and spare clips, as well as a few Kopecs he kept hidden there.

He quickly cleaned and oiled the weapon and tucked under his pillow, just in case Vladimir tried any funny business during the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Early the next morning Illya Kuryakin stood in the office of his commanding officer at the Directorate, waiting to be told why he'd been called there. The summons at least had freed him from the hands of KGB and that was, to say the least, a good thing. All he knew at the moment was there was an assignment in his future.

His stomach grumbled from lack of food, as there had been no time for even a small bowl of Kashi that morning. After a few minutes of ignoring the junior agent, the General looked up at him, studying the young Russian.

_"Товарищ Куракин, пожалуйста, садитесь_Comrade Kuryakin, please be seated."_

_"Я предпочитаю стоять_I prefer to stand." __I_llya realized instantly that might have been a mistake, but then displaying a bit of boldness would show the man strength on his part as he remained at attention in front of him.

Illya's eyes quickly surveyed the room, noting the omnipresent photograph on the walls of the Troika- the collective leadership of Brezhnev as First Secretary, Kosygin as Premier and Podgomy as Chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet.

There were a few bourgeois items of a decorative nature dotting the bookshelves, a small bust of Julius Caesar, and some miniature Greek statuettes of white marble. An ornately painted balalaika leaned in the back corner next to fern growing in a porcelain vase of Chinese origin, possibly Ming dynasty.

_"Сидеть_Sit!_" General Maxim Vetochkin barked at him with decisive tone, his voice was deep and commanding.

_"Да, сэр_ yes sir!"_ Kuryakin snapped to, saluting the officer. His voice in contrast to the Generals was higher pitched, and it cracked slightly as he quickly pulled a red cushioned chair in place before he sat down as ordered.

Vetochkin paused for a moment, lighting a cigarette with a silver lighter and resting it beside a cut glass ashtray. He took several long drags, before blowing the smoke in the young agent's direction. He eyed Kuryakin carefully, thinking he looked like a runt and questioned his possible value as an agent. That would be decided after the mission on which he was about to send the slight blond.

"_Я уверен, вам интересно, почему вы были заказаны здесь_I am sure you are curious as to why you were sent here?"_

"Yes sir, " Illya repeated, swallowing as he suddenly felt a bit nervous, never having never been called into the office of a member of the Directorate, as he had only dealt with handlers in his short career as with the GRU.

Vetochkin looked carefully at the young man who had just been promoted to an agent of GRU. He was seventeen but didn't look his age as he was small, skinny, but that could be used to an advantage where they needed someone who looked very young to infiltrate any sort of group that was not in compliance with policies of the State.

Viktor Karkoff was his sponsor so that was a strike against him right there, yet there was a hunger in the boy's cold blue eyes, and the General watched as Illya stared back without fear.

"I have an assignment for you that will require you to leave today for Novgorod. We have an agent there about whom we have our suspicions, we think perhaps he is getting ready to defect."

"His name?"

"Alexandrov, Nicholaí Alexandrov."

Illya showed no reaction, though he knew the name and the man well enough, and he was sure Vetochkin was also aware of that fact.

"And my orders sir?"

"You are to eliminate him."

The young Russian hesitated for a moment, as this was the first such instruction like this he'd ever been given. "And KGB?"

"It is none of their concern."

He said nothing more to the General regarding that, but knew the Secret Police would stick their collective noses where they didn't belong, especially when GRU was giving an order to dispose of one of their own.

"Has it been confirmed that he is defecting?"

"That is not your concern Kuryakin. You have your orders," Vetochkin handed him a slip of paper. "You will find him at this address. You are dismissed."

Illya rose from the chair, saluted his superior and slipped from the room, not uttering another word. His heart sank, though he was sure the General had not seen it as he'd learned to hide his emotions a long time ago.

The next step would be to fill out paperwork, and speak with a psychiatrist as well as report the the armory. He was apparently being issued a new model pistol called a Makarov, though he was happy with his own Takarov pistol...perhaps they would let him have both if he promised to do a comparative analysis of the two weapons.

Illya's thoughts drifted to Nicholaí, who was someone he knew from their training days. They had been amicable, but after Illya's friend Valery Nemikoff was sent away for having failed in his training, Illya broke off his contact with Nicholaí and any others he'd gotten to know. It was better to stay aloof, and not feel the loss of a friend in case anything happened. He had no proof, but suspected Valery suffered and died in the blast furnaces in Sepakov, that was the punishment for failure.*

One thing he knew was that Nicholaí Alexandrov was not the type to defect. He was devoted to the party and a loyal operative. Illya wondered if this was truly a case of defection or was there something else going on?

It was wasn't unknown for the Directorate to do such things; ordering an agent to kill someone they knew, for no reason other than to test him. They did what was necessary to make sure an operative remained loyal, even resorting to blackmail and holding the agents family hostage, making threats against their lives was part of their bag of tricks.

They always found a way to dangle a sword of Damocles over an agents head, and since Illya had no family, he rationalized this was probably a test to see if he could carry out this sort of order without hesitation. What better way to confirm his allegiance than to order him to kill a man he'd been friendly with during training. Illya's lack of familial ties and friends made him the perfect guinea pig for such a test.

"It was a shame," Illya thought, that he'd not broken off with Alexandrov sooner, but then again, this honor would have simply gone to someone else he'd known in his young life. Back in training, who would have thought of such things? It was but one of many harsh realities he became aware of, though he foolishly hoped it would never apply to him as had training progressed.

Yet he and the other young recruits discovered all things were possible when it came to the world of espionage.

Nicholaí had been promoted to agent status, but was he was not a stellar one, and like Illya, he had a few political connections though he was a devoted party member. The more Kuryakin thought about it, the more it did not make sense the man was preparing to defect.

He remembered Alexandrov when having completed his training was borderline at best. It made sense now that Nicholaí would be expendable for that reason alone; every operative was disposable, but some more than others.

It was manys the time Illya felt he was in that same position himself, though receiving outstanding marks in his training, his was a precarious position due to his lack of connections. Victor Karkoff, his sponsor to GRU, was not always in the good graces of the Directorate, and that counted as a strike against Kuryakin; guilt by association ran rampant in the Soviet Union.

He was a loner more by choice, and found it difficult making friends as there was a fear that lurked beneath his skin, making him worry that he might have to spy on a comrade, or now as in this case, assassinate one. His performance in the field during his so far brief career had been acceptable, though his assignments had mainly been courier work and dead-drops, but still there were his weaknesses to consider. He was more cautious than most agents, and seemed overly concerned when it came to innocents being hurt or killed.

Illya Kuryakin had a conscience, and that was a liability for a spy; though he did his best to dance around his vulnerabilities without being noticed. Until now he'd done well at staying under the radar.

His thoughts drifted back to KGB, and though Vetochkin had dismissed that concern, Illya had a strong feeling he might have to deal with the Secret Police. They were always at odds with GRU, though he wondered if their interfering, might possibly prevent the death of Alexandrov, but hopefully not at the expense of his own life.

After all arrangements had been made, Illya left the GRU headquarters, heading back to his apartment and as he drove through Lubyanka Square, riding in a requisitioned a car from the motor pool, a plain grey Pobeda that had seen better days and he gazed again at the large yellow Neo-Baroque building, that was the home of KGB where he'd been held only yesterday.

It was joked that it was tallest building in Moskva, and that Siberia could be seen from its basement as most who survived what was doled out by their interrogators were often sent to the gulags in that part of Russia. The Lubyanka was referred to as "Adult's World" since Detsky Mir... Children's World," stood across the square from it, making for a very bizarre juxtaposition.

Illya found it incongruous the great pain and suffering took place in the cells of Lubyanka, while privileged parents with their children smiling and playing in the largest toy store in the U.S.S.R. were oblivious to the suffering going on across the square.

The thought of his own branch of service, military intelligence, not being as extreme or perhaps as vicious as were the tendencies of the Secret Police offered little comfort to him. They, like KGB, did what was needed, good or bad. It was his responsibility to do what he was told and go where he was told, whether he like it or not; it was that or be killed. That made doing his duty a simple though unpleasant choice. It was a fact of life; choices were something that were far and few between for an intelligence operative.

Illya started his journey first by stopping home to pick up some things and to eat, or rather, he hoped he would eat.

It was past supper time, and he had a bad feeling that meant no food for him again. This would be his second day without a meal...

.

* ref. "Petrushka"


	3. Chapter 3

After leaving his apartment Illya headed to the small neighborhood of Kitai-Gorod, a quaint business district surrounded by the medieval walls of the Kremlin.

It was one of the oldest historical parts of Moskva, joining the Kremlin from the east side, and Moskva River - from the south side, with St. Elijah's gate which in turn joined Lyubanka Square with the Kiti-gorod. That particular gate had a special place in Illya's heart, as he was named for his fathers Jewish friend Elijah and passing through the gate always made him think kindly of his namesake. *

Elijah died at the hands of the Nazis in Bykivnia forest along with Illya's father Nicholaí, older brother Dimitry, as well as his Uncle Vanya and cousin Anastasiya. He let those sad thoughts drift away, burying them where they belonged, safely hidden with the rest of his feelings.*

He continued walking, heading to Tverskaya Street, where many State approved cafés and restaurants could be found. He stopped in one of the smaller ones, having found the food in these places was generally of better quality.

He'd not eaten since the previous day and his usual headache was dogging him. Though he could ill-afford spending his money on such a luxurious thing as eating out, he had no choice. He needed to be on the road for Novgorod as soon as possible, but he could not do that on an empty stomach.

His high metabolism had always been a problem, but again one he had learned to live with. He would get terrible headaches and eventually would become light-headed if he didn't eat something.

There had been extreme occasions where his body would literally shut down when lacking food, and he would pass out for a few minutes. He guessed that it had something to do with his blood glucose, and took to keeping some sugar cubes wrapped in a handkerchief for when he would begin to feel his system going off. Luckily this was never exposed during his training, if it had then he surely would have joined his friend Valery in the furnaces at Sepakov.

Illya stepped into a corner restaurant, knowing the woman running the small storefront eatery was only able to do so because she had good connections somewhere that allowed her the permits for such a business. Her name was Elena; she was a dark-haired, perhaps in her forties and looking like she might have Kazak blood in her. She smiled at him as she handed over a small menu card of the day's offerings.

He ordered a bowl of borscht, pelmeni filled with minced beef, lamb and pork, spiced with pepper, onions and garlic, and as a side, an order of pirozhi dumplings filled with mashed potato and green onion.

Simple fare, but to Illya, a feast. It was accompanied by several glasses of hot tea, of course, the mainstay of a Russian meal.

"You have a great appetite for one so skinny? When was the last time you ate young man?" Elena asked.

Illya looked up at her with puppy dog eyes. "Not since yesterday morning Madam, but I managed to get by. I was lucky to have received a little bonus from my employer, just a few coins, as it is my birthday." He lied to her so deftly; part of it was a truth, as he was using some of the money advanced to him by the Directorate for his assignment.

"A birthday boy? Oh-ho, that earns you an extra portion of pirozhi, if you have room for them?"

Illya's grin gave her the answer.

She returned with another bowl, this time the dumplings were filled with sautéed mushrooms and spiced carrots."

"Thank you, this is very kind of you." He smiled sweetly as he knew how to play the game. Batting his eyes, and telling a white lie about his birthday to get extra food was a trick he'd used in the past. He wasn't proud of it, but it was at times an easy way to fill a hungry belly.

Fooling her into feeding him more and the rubles spent bought him a surprisingly hearty meal and that pleased him, as he had no idea when he would be able to eat again.

Illya thought about his assignment as he quickly ate, still questioning whether it was a test or not; either way, he was still dreading it. This was the first time he was being ordered to kill someone. Why did it have to be a person he knew...why?

Such a thing would have put most people off their feed, but Illya Kuryakin had no trouble eating, and relished his meal like one who was truly starving. That was something he had be very familiar with as a child, nearly starving to death on the streets of Kyiv. His life had been one of deprivation for many years; the only circumstance that would have kept him from feeding himself today was if he were ill. Food held a preeminent place in his life and it seemed like he was always in search of it.

He had been given per diem to cover the cost of the trip and that gave him a sense of how long he had been given to complete his mission. Between his few Kopeks and the money from the Directorate, he could do this. What they'd given him would barely cover the fuel costs, but to have such a meal he'd risk driving the car on near fumes. The food at least would keep him going for the long drive to Novgorod.

Eight hours there and eight hours back, and most likely he was expected to do what had to be done within the next twenty-four hours.

He would worry about being short on rubles after the fact, but then if Alexandrov had any money on him, Illya could claim that as his. Another fact of life for an agent, the contents of a target's pocket were fair game. Training had taught him to augment his income by any means and he was good at thievery as he'd learned that back in his days at the Orphanage, though it had not been so long ago.

His life had become so different since he'd said farewell to his friend Natasha Asimov. Her parting words as she was sent off to a life of servitude as a maid servant was to _"not be like them,"_ referring to the thugs they lived with at the Orphanage. That was a promise he meant to keep, but the requirements of his job as an agent of the Soviet government left his vow a little fuzzy at times. **

He was right when he once told Natasha that the government owned them. He was not a thug, but he was now a trained killer, an agent of Главное Разведывательное Управление ГРУ, _the GRU_ and that was the sum total of his existence now. It was a life in which he had no say, he had been chosen and not the other way around.

When Viktor Karkoff entered his life, everything changed. He had been tested and judged far above the intelligence level for his age and finished his schooling in record time, served in the Navy and completed his training for military intelligence all by his seventeenth birthday.

If he did as ordered and eliminated Alexandrov, he would most likely be given his first real assignment, perhaps a permanent one, and that he looked forward to, but not the means by which he would be taking to get it.

He started the car, driving on to Kitaigorodskii to quay Moskvoretskaya, heading past the Kremlin and taking the ramp onto Borovitskaya Square, north out of the city, not knowing what this mission really held in store for him as he struggled to come to terms with his mixed feelings over it.

.

* ref "Beginnings"

** ref "The Orphanage"


	4. Chapter 4

Other than making a few stops to relieve himself, Illya made it to Novgorod in just over seven hours. He had never visited the city before and as was his habit; he read up a little on it before leaving.

Standing on the Volkhov River, Novgorod, like Moskva had its own Kremlin called _Детинец_Detinets,_ once it was filled with medieval monuments and buildings but during the war the city was occupied by the Germans and the Kremlin was heavily damaged and historic monuments were systematically annihilated. When the Red Army liberated the city, fewer than 40 buildings remained standing of the original 2,536.

One of the most outstanding structures that survived the occupation was the cathedral of St. Sophia, but it too suffered damage. The large cross on the main dome had a dove attached to it, symbolic of the Holy Spirit but it was removed by Spanish infantry known as the Blue Division..._ División Azul_, officially designated as_ División Española de Voluntarios b_y the Spanish Army and _Infanterie-Division_ in the German Army.

It was a unit of Spanish and Portuguese volunteers who served in the German Army and it was these soldiers who took the cross back to Spain, where they still kept in Madrid's Military Engineering Academy Museum.

The cathedral gave Illya a sense of familiarity when he saw it, as it was modeled on the design of the St. Sophia cathedral back in Kyiv, though he hadn't been there since he was a child. Since the practice of religion was banned by the Soviet government, or at least the public display of it, the cathedral now served as a museum.

Novgorod itself was a reconstruction project, and at the same time industry grew because of it. The city seemed to be growing and thriving, at least that was what the reports said.

Illya parked his car up the street from the address he had been told was where Alexandrov was living. It was in a ramshackle building in the middle of the block, surrounded by even more dilapidated structures that served as homes. Perhaps Novgorod was not in as good a shape as he had been led to believe, thinking it was more of the usual State

Standing on the corner; he watched the door to Alexandrov's abode. Several minutes passed and a young blonde woman emerged through the door, carrying a wrapped bundle in her arms. She tied a babushka around her hair, looked cautiously to the left and right, then hastily crossed the street, disappearing around the next the corner.

He paid her no mind; she was not his target, Alexandrov was. Now there was the question that bid answering, did he wait hoping Nicholaí would come out as well, or should he just knock on the door? Was he even there? There was only one way to find out. Making his decision, and hoping the man was inside, he approached the door, thinking it was better to do the deed within, out of sight from prying eyes.

Kuryakin paused, taking a deep breath and knocked on the door with several hard raps. It opened slowly, and the face of Nicholaí Alexandrov appeared.

_"Илья? Илья Николаевич_Illya_Illya? Illya Nickovich?_" He was shocked at first, but then grinned from ear to ear.

This was not going to be as easy as Illya had hoped.

"_Да. Здравствуйте Николай Иванович_Yes. Hello Nicholaí Ivanovich._"

"My God Kuryakin, what are you doing here?" He hesitated for a moment "Come in please!"

Illya diverted his eyes from Nicholí as he walked through the doorway, glancing away before they could betray him. It would take but a moment for him to draw the prototype _Makarov_ pistol and end it right here and now.

The weapon was new, not in mass production and was being issued to military intelligence and of course the secret police to test. It was the _Главное артиллерийское управление_ GAU, the General Artillery Department of General Staff_'s version of the Walther PP type weapon.

Illya liked his_ Tokarov_ better, even though it had its problems and was able to keep it as a backup. The new pistol, despite being relatively simple and powerful, showed significant deficiencies, some of them quite serious, such as the lack of a positive safety.

Nicholaí held his hand out in greeting, taking Illya off guard and momentarily distracting him. He reached out accepting Nicholaí's hand in response.

"How have you been?" He politely asked his target.

"I am as well as can be expected in this hell hole, but this is where I am assigned and this is where I stay until otherwise told by Directorate."

He suddenly looked questioningly at Illya." How did you know where I lived?" He glanced down, eyeing the weapon in Illya's shoulder holster.

Illya gave him a shy smile, one that Nicholaí knew well. "Remember, I am in GRU just as you?"

Alexandrov gave a nervous laugh. "Yes, that is true. Come, I am making tea, join me." He said, diverting his attention away from the weapon, but not his suspicions.

Illya followed him through the tiny apartment to the kitchen, where he saw a pot of water boiling on the small propane stove.

The domicile was not as spartan as Illya expected it would be. He spotted obvious feminine touches, lace curtains, an embroidered table cloth, and in the middle of the table a vase with a small bunch of what looked like violets.

"Please have a seat, " Nicholaí said, sliding back out one of the plain wooden chairs at the table.

Illya obliged as a glass filled with piping hot tea was set down in front of him.

"I am sorry," Nicholaí apologized, I have no jam or sugar. Things are a bit tight here."

He received a nod of understanding as his surprise guest sipped his tea.

"I understand, remember I have the same employer as you." Illya noticed that Nicholaí kept his right hand under the table, holding his glass with his left hand, but he recalled the man was right-handed. No doubt he had a weapon taped beneath, just in case.

"So Illya Nickovich, why are you here?"

He bit his lower lip, trusting his instincts, he told Nicholaí the truth.

"I have been sent to kill you."

Alexandrov brought his right hand out into view, holding his own Tokarov and aiming it directly at Kuryakin. "Why?"

"I was told that you are suspected of preparing to defect. Your execution was ordered base on that assumption."

"And do you intend to complete your mission?" Nicholaí stated coldly.

"Nicholaí Ivanovich, I could have easily killed you the moment I walked in the door, if it had been my intention to follow through with the order. Why would I bother to tell you the truth if it I was going to actually kill you?"

"One would think for sadistic pleasure, but you were never sadistic Illya Nichovich," Nicholaí answered, "But just to be on the safe side, put your pistol on the table and slide it towards me. Slowly please."

Illya complied, looking the man in the eyes. "I am trying to figure out how to save both your life and mine. I am sure the order to kill you is simply a test of loyalty for me on the part of the Directorate. I have no family with which they can ensure my allegiance, and hence this test to kill someone I know without question or reservation. They must be preparing to send me on a mission and want to make certain I will not turn."

"And what makes you not want to do it Comrade? If I were in your place, you would have already been dead."

"Perhaps, but I am not the one with a family. I observed a woman leaving here not long ago, she carried a wrapped bundle with her, a baby I suspect. You are married are you not Nicholaí."

"Yes I am. Her name is Nadezhda, and the baby is my son, Grigori. He is only a month old. We did not apply for a marriage permit from the State, we were wed in secret by a priest. Some of us have not given up their belief in God like you have Illya Nickovich."

Illya shrugged his shoulders to that statement, looking intently at the man still aiming a pistol at him. "Directorate does not like its agents going off and getting married without authorization. I suppose your subterfuge has somewhat annoyed them. Perhaps that is why you were chosen as the target."

"So if there had not been the woman and child, you would have completed your mission then?"

"That is no longer the relevant."

They both heard a noise coming from the front of the apartment. "Nicholaí?" A woman's voice called out.

Alexandrov grabbed Illya's pistol, tucking it under his shirt and hid his underneath the table again, "No sudden moves," he warned.

Nadezhda Alexandrova walked into the kitchen holding Grigory in one arm and a small paper sack in the other. "Oh, Kolya we have company?"

"Yes, an old friend from school."

Illya stood slowly, smiling at her. " My name is Illya, Illya Kuryakin, here let me help you with that." He reached out slowly, taking the sack from her and putting it on the table.

"It is nice to meet you, though I do not recall Kolya mentioning anyone named Kuryakin."

"It was a long time ago," Nicholaí said, tucking his pistol behind his back without her seeing it and taking the baby from her arms in one swift motion.

"This Illya, is my son Grisha." He beamed, holding up the dark-haired chrubic infant for him to see.

"He is a handsome child, may he grow up strong and healthy as the tree I am sure you planted in his name." Illya smiled, stating the old Russian tradition for a father to plant a tree for his child.

"Though we have no garden, I did plant a sapling near St. Sophias." Nicholaí blushed. " I did not think you honored the old ways Illya, you never struck me as that sort of person."

"There are many things that no one knows about me, and that is the way I prefer to keep it.

"Illya, I hope you are going to stay and share food with us?" Nada asked. "You look like you could use a good meal, if you do not mind me saying. You are a skinny one."

"So I am constantly told," he smiled, glancing at Nicholaí. " I would be honored to break bread with you."

Nada quickly set about making a meal for the three of them...a cold soup called_ Tyurya,_ made with bread soaked in_ kvass_, a fermented beverage made from rye bread. It was commonly consumed during rough times and by poor peasants. Then she made _Kotlety_, small pan-fried meat balls made of white-fish, no doubt caught in the nearby _Volkhov_ river that flowed out of Lake Ilmen north into Lake Ladoga. Lastly she cooked up a plate of potatoes, turnips and carrots, spiced with herbs and green onions.

It was a poor man's meal yet still hearty. The three of them ate together quietly, and Illya out of politeness ate slowly and did not seek a second helping. Nada insisted though, again repeating he was too skinny.

She cleared the table of the dishes, after which she brought out a bottle of State approved vodka and two glasses. "I will leave you two to catch up as it is Grisha's turn to be fed." She gently picked up her son from his basket, disappearing into another part of the apartment to breast feed him.

Nicholaí opened the bottle, pouring each of them a glassful and reached across the table, offering the drink to Illya.

"So now what Comrade Kuryakin? I have fed you, you have met my family. Are you still willing to save my life...our lives, or have you changed your mind and decided to try fulfill your assignment? Should I kill you and do what I am being accused of and defect, since I am now targeted for death. Better to try than just stand helpless and be killed like they did the Jews during the pogroms and the war."

"Escape yes, Nicholaí, try to kill me...no. I am the means of your escape and you would never make it without me," Illya flashed a feral smile.

.


	5. Chapter 5

Illya drew his Tokarov from behind his back in one quick gesture, pointing it straight at Nicholaí.

"Does this give you your answer? I could have drawn this weapon quite a while ago." Illya sneered as he stood, taking back his Makarov and relieving Nicholaí of his own pistol.

"I am going to put the weapons away. You are not going to die by my hand Nicholaí Ivanovich, unless you give me good reason to kill you. I am willing to help you if you will accept it. What is your answer?" There was a cold confidence to his voice.

Alexandrov glanced nervously at the door through which Nada had disappeared, then back at Kuryakin.

"My family must survive, and they cannot do it without me. What is your plan?" He again offered his hand, this time in trust and friendship.

Illya declined to shake it, a handshake now would make it too personal. He could not allow himself any attachments or feelings for this, his former Comrade...better to remain distant as it would make things easier if there were trouble.

"We need to get you out of here, the city to somewhere in the countryside. You will have to disguise yourselves. From there you could perhaps make your way north, get across the border to Finland if you wanted to. Yet there are many enclaves along the way in the country where you could hide for a long time. The Lake Ladoga district is desolate enough and the many island there could be used as safe havens."

"What do you want me to do?" Nicholaí whispered.

"First, you need to tell your wife."

Nada was in the front room, sitting in a chair rocking the baby, as he'd just finished nursing him. Nicholaí gave her the news without any sugar-coating.

"What?" She blurted out. "Kolya, why do we have to leave? This is our home?" Grisha began to cry, startled by his mother's sudden outburst.

She looked at Illya, then back at her husband. "Everything was fine until he showed up. What is going on here?" Her tone of surprise was replaced with one of demand.

"I cannot tell you exactly, but Illya is here to help us...there is trouble and we must go."

Illya nodded his head gravely. "I am sorry, I know you are frightened but it is true. You must leave now while you can." He hesitated, but decided to tell her the truth.

"I was sent here to kill your husband."

Nada suddenly reached out, slapping him across the face, enraged at what this stranger just told her. She hit him again, until he stopped her, grabbing her wrist tightly.

"You know what your husband does for a living, if not then you must suspect it. He and I trained together for GRU and I was ordered by the Directorate to assassinate him. They claim he is defecting, but I suspect this is all part of a test for me."

"Kill my Kolya? Then if this is so, kill me and my child too, as I do not wish to live without my husband!"

"No. I refuse to murder innocents, that is why I have decided to help you all escape."

"Illya if you do that, then you doom yourself." Kolya said.

"Not if I can help it. Now pack what you need, and keep it light. We must travel quickly. I think getting you across the border to Finland will be the best for you rather than you remaining in the country. I fear if you do, you will eventually be discovered."

Nada hushed Grisha, laying him in his basket as she packed a small suitcase and a carry bag for the baby's things. The couple didn't own much and had little to leave, but the last thing she grabbed was a small icon of the Madonna that was on their wall, stuffing it in with the child's things."

They waited for nightfall, and slipping out the door, they made their way up the street to Illya's little Pobeda and got into it. He started the car, turning on the headlights after he had already pulled out onto the dimly lit street.

Illya did not see the car that pulled out after him, as they did not turn their headlights on.

.

He had the route planned out in his head, though he'd never travelled that far north by car.

The only time he had been much farther was when he and Nicholaí had spent time as part of their training in the Solovki prison camp in the Solovetsky Islands, in the White Sea. Once a monastery, it was actually the mother of all the gulags and the oldest such camp in Soviet history. By Lenin's decree, the buildings there were turned into, _Соловецкий Лагерь "особого назначенияthe... "Solovki Special Purpose Camp,"_ and became the prototype for the gulag system.

The place was eventually turned into a prison, due to the harsh, isolated conditions that made escape near impossible. It was supposedly closed before the Second World War, as the camp was situated close to the border with Finland. The buildings were then transformed into a naval base, with the navy cadet corps was deployed in the monastery buildings. Illya did his mandatory service in the Navy for a year, but was never stationed there.

That was what everyone thought it was...a naval base, but Solovki was in fact still maintained as a prison and used at times for the training of Soviet Intelligence operatives. What better training ground for interrogation but a prison, with the unfortunate inmates used as guinea pigs; those who were forgotten, and lost to the world.

Illya and Nicholaí's class had been brought to the cam by plane via Angelesk for special training during which they suffered some of the indignities that a prisoner might experience, though some of it had been taken to extremes. There they learned the methods of interrogation and how long the human spirit might last under such circumstances.

One of the officers in charge of training took a dislike to Illya and nearly had him starved to death, though he never broke the young blonds spirit. If it had not been for the intervention of his sponsor, Viktor Karkoff, Illya might have died during his training.

That seemed to be his life, a series of endless close calls and he hoped his venture with Nicholaí and his family would not be another one.

Illya never told anyone of his background, remembering his father's advice as a child to keep secret his family's noble origins; his grandfather Count Alexander Sergeivich Kuryakin died at the Solovki gulag while being 're-educated.' Illya tried to find information about his grandfather while he was there, but was never able to discover how he died or where he was buried. There were many unmarked graves scattered all over the island.

Solovki was a terrible place that seemed to suck the life out of everyone, not just the prisoners. The inmates lived and died in such despondency, and he hoped he would never see such a place again. Its very existence made him feel ashamed to be a Soviet citizen.

Illya supposed that was why he was so willing to help his former Comrade; Nicholaí was not deserving to die due to a whim of the Soviet government, and was actually an innocent, just as Kuryakin's grandfather, the Count had been.

Illya's father had lectured him to respect that which was innocent, and though it was difficult at times, he swore to honor his Papa's wishes. He taught him right from wrong, and how to survive and knew that sometimes in order to do that, one had to compromise...but not this time.

Somehow he was going to save Alexandrov and his family, and his own life as well and still be in the good graces of the Directorate.

He chose their escape route carefully, and would skirt near the cities and settlements of Chudovo and Tosno, taking them to Lake Ladoga before heading on to the city border of Leningrad in the Pushkinsky District. From there to the Finnish border the distance was approximately 200 km. They would go to the border between Russia and Finland, crossing by foot. It was a dangerous plan, but there were not many other options.

Nicholaí and his little family might be able to stay hidden on one of the many islands of Lake Ladoga if they could go no farther, but eventually and even with false identities they'd be discovered.

It was better to take the risky route across the northwest border, choosing a rugged and remote location for that; he could see them through part of it, but eventually he would have to leave them and hope they'd make it to the Finnish side, where they would ask for asylum.

"_этот план является слабым, Куракин_this plan is weak, Kuryakin_," he told himself. Strategy was not always his forté, but boldness and stubbornness were.

If it were only Alexandrov, the crossing would be much simpler, but with Nadia and the baby in tow, they would be slowed down substantially once they were on foot.

It was of the utmost importance that Grisha be kept quiet as quiet as possible; that perhaps would be almost as difficult as crossing the border through the forests. Illya's idea was to head for the Karelian Isthmus a wide stretch of land situated between the Gulf of Finland and Lake Ladoga, its northwestern boundary is the relatively narrow area between the Bay of Vyborg and Lake Ladoga.

Vuoksi, the largest river, ran southeastwards from Lake Saimaa in Finland to Lake Ladoga, dividing the isthmus into two uneven parts. Saimaa Canal linked Lake Saimaa to the Bay of Vyborg. They would travel to Lake Ladoga and the isthmus, and use the canal to Saimaa. It was there that he would see them across to Finland. The only thing they needed to avoid were the guards and their dogs that patrolled the forests, once they left the canal.

It would be his job to distract them while Nicholaí and his family escaped.

The isthmus was mostly covered by forests formed by Scots pine and Norway spruce dotted with numerous smaller lakes as well as small grass moors and peat bogs. The forest itself covered nearly 12 km. of the isthmus, more than three quarters of its total square acreage having swampy areas popping up in many places. Those were the areas they could use to hide in, as the guards and their canine companions would not patrol there. The swamps themselves were treacherous and they would have to take extra care.

This was going to take days, and they would have to keep moving constantly. Illya would be gone longer than the twenty-four hours had been allotted him by the Directorate to complete his task, but these sort of things do not always go like clockwork and they would understand that as long as he returned with proof of a kill.

Illya would take Nicholaí's identification back with him to Moskva, and one last detail he neglected to tell the man; Nicholaí Alexandrov would have to sacrifice a finger as proof of his supposed death. Nicholaí was aware of it as standard procedure, but it just wasn't brought up in conversation..._yet._

Illya would return with the bloody trophy, and no doubt the fingerprint would be checked, and thus verifying his story, or at least he hoped. This minor detail, he would hold off telling Nicholaí for as long as he could.

It all sounded so simple in Illya's head, but at the same time there was a little voice telling him he was crazy for doing this, saying he needed to take care of his own zhopa.

He chose to ignore the voice.


	6. Chapter 6

The route Illya planned out of Novgorod would take them towards the Russian side of the border with Finland but at one point it would be necessary for them to abandon the car.

He knew enough about the landscape to expect it to transition from thick pine and birch forests to fields that lay fallow, over to marshland and back into primeval forests. Those places were little traveled as they were ripe with dangers, both natural and unnatural. The woods were filled with wolves, bears and border patrols with their attack dogs.

They would not only have to be wary of any patrols but also of moose. It was hunting season, and the animals would be agitated and often on the move. They could be even more dangerous and unpredictable than the other wildlife hiding there in the primordial forests.

Like a river of black top, the road formed the main street of town after town of once beautiful, but now teetering wooden peasant homes, built i in the old style before the revolution. Periodically, along the roadside, women wearing their babushka kerchiefs sat selling pickled beets and potatoes, pots of steaming coffee, folk dolls, displaying their wares from beneath rickety lean-tos.

Here in the country it was less likely to get caught selling illegal or black market goods by the secret police as sit seemed the residents of the cities and more industrial areas suffered that indignity more often.

As he drove the Pobeda,the pavement became choppier, the chill heavier, and the shoulder of the road was covered on both sides with trash, and other human detritus.

No one came to clean it up, as no one cared.

All the while traveling through this scenery, Illya continually looked in the rearview mirror. His instincts told him they were being followed, yet he saw nothing, and he tried to put it off to nerves. Though there was no one in sight, he remained more on edge than usual, despite his best efforts at ignoring his premonition; it crept beneath his skin like an annoying itch.

They continued along the motorway, making a stop at Chudovo and again at Lyuban, all for the sake of Nada and the baby. Finally, the last leg of their journey began as they headed to Kirovsk. There Illya planned to leave the Pobeda and make their way on foot, crossing the Neva river by the stark concrete Ladozhsky Bridge. It was the uppermost bridge spanning the Neva River, leading to part of Murmansk Highway and finally to the Oreshek Fortress some 15 km away.

The walk would have taken the average person three hours or so, but with the woman and child, it would take longer. Illya felt it wise to hide the car outside of Kirovsk, and not take it to the fortress where it would sit in plain sight and perhaps draw unwanted attention to any passersby.

After many rest stops, and taking turns carrying Grisha, they finally reached the bridge and their last leg of this part of their journey. There at the fortress of Oreshek they would rest for the night before heading out across the Karelian Isthmus to get to the border. That would be the most dangerous part of their journey

They reached Kirovsk by nightfall, and he parked the small car off the road in some thick trees and bushes, leaving it safely out of sight, after which they began their trek in darkness, with the pavement of the highway as their guide. When headlights became visible, in their direction, they duck into the line of trees for cover. Three adults and a baby walking along the Murmansk Highway in the dark of night would alert anyone's suspicions.

There were few people ever at the ruins of the fortress, given it's out of the way location. The still intact 16th-century Tsar's Tower, through which visitors entered the fortress, would offer them shelter for the night.

Several additions had made to the island in its time as a penal colony, including the Secret House of Emperor Paul's reign, which now includes recreated cells to give visitors an idea of inmates' conditions, and the New Prison, which was built in 1884 and held, among others, Lenin's brother, Alexander Ulyanov, who was hanged for treason in 1887. The tower, still mainly intact, would keep them somewhat sequestered from the rest of the world and curious eyes before they began the next phase of their journey.

After arriving at Oreshek hours later Illya and his tired charges settled down, readying a few blankets they'd brought with them. The last of the food was eaten cold. It was but a few cold roasted potatoes, black bread and cold tea, meager fare but better than nothing.

Kuryakin gave up his blanket to Nadia, who was shivering as she finished nursing Grisha, the boy suckling greedily at his mother's breast made little sounds of satisfaction. She handed him the baby, accepting the blanket while she buttoned up her blouse and Illya took the child, feeling a little nervous at first as it had been many years since he's held an infant.

"Go ahead, pat him on the back so he can belch," she smiled, reminding him to support the baby's head.

He laughed when Grisha let out a loud burp, and he recalled a distant but happy memory when his baby brothers Sasha and Misha were fed and needed to be burped the same way. Though he was only eight years old, he remembered helping his mother. It was a good memory, though it did make him feel a little melancholy as he'd not thought of the twins in a very long time.

The baby latched onto his thumb with tiny fingers, and Illya stared in amazement, that a memory too of Sasha and Misha doing the same thing. He passed Grisha back to his mother."He is a beautiful child," he tried smiling, touching his hand gently to the baby's head.

"Thank you," Nada smiled, "he's a good baby, maybe you will have children of your own someday?"

He blushed in response to her. "That is something I doubt will ever happen. One has to live in order to do that, and wit my life as an agent of the GRU, the idea of having a family is in a grey area." In truth, he didn't want to say that he thought he'd never live long enough to marry and have a family of his own. Such a thing was not exactly a priority at the moment.

"Illya I am sorry I slapped you, I was very afraid, You are trying to save us, I understand that now and I appreciate it very much."

He nodded his acceptance of her apology, when Nicholaí pulled him aside, speaking frankly out of earshot of Nada. "Tovarisch, do you really believe this is going to work?"

"I am not sure about anything at this point, but trying it is at least better than the alternative...which for all intents and purposes is a sure thing."

"Illya how did we get into this business you and me? You are very smart, how is it you are not a scientist working in Gorky?"

"Nicholaí, I was an orphan and taken under the wing by a member of the Directorate and for that reason I had no choice of the direction in which my life would take. I have had no say since I was ten years old."

"I did not know that. I suppose I did have a choice. My father was in the military but became disgraced. He was sent to Solovki gulag as punishment. When he was released, he was a changed man, as if all the spirit had been driven from him. I joined GRU to restore my family name and to bring honor back to it, but now with this order you were given, I see I am of no worth to them, and my family name still means nothing."

Illya nodded his understanding. He could have told Nicholaí of his own grandfathers incarceration at Solovki, and the downfall of the Kuryakin name as well, but thought it better not to; reminding himself of his mantra 'the less someone knows of you, the longer you will live.' Instead, he rose and bedded himself down in a corner to catch some sleep.

"I suggest you get some rest, as our real journey begins tomorrow. We travel across the isthmus to the border. There will be no food, and we will need to live off the land for the time being. It will be an exhausting journey, and I am concerned about your wife and child being strong enough."

"She is stronger than you think, and there is nothing more inspiring than a mother lioness protecting her cub. She will manage," Nicholaí whispered before he joined his wife lying on the floor, snuggled up with their son.

Both Illya and Nicholaí slept fitfully during the night, their nerves were on edge, and every little unfamiliar noise startled them to attention.

Only the baby seemed to sleep well though the night and that, Illya supposed, was because he was the only one well fed and unaware of the dangers that surrounded him.

He was grateful for the child being silent, as an infant's cries would echo throughout the fortress and might call undue attention to anyone who was nearby.

It was just after dawn when Illya woke, and he rose quietly as the others slept and looked out the small window. What he saw gave him instant cause to become alarmed.

Parked down below was a black sedan, definitely not the type just anyone who could afford a car would drive. Illya's premonition they were being followed had come to fruition, as he knew this car had to belong to KGB.

He moved quickly to Nicolaí, tapping him gently on the shoulder, but signalled with his finger over his lips to be silent as soon as the man had opened his eyes.

"We have company," Illya whispered, "I fear it is KGB. I am sorry Comrade but my plans were apparently not as clever as I thought they were. We must move quickly if we are to escape. Wake your wife, but whatever you do...do not let the baby cry as that will signal our doom."

They moved quickly as soon as Nada was awake. She stuck her finger in the baby's mouth for him to suck on, and keep him quiet as they crept silently down the spiral stone staircase and made it safely to the outside of the tower.

It was then Grigori decided to let out a blood-curdling wail, alerting the KGB agents on the far side of the tower, and that was when all hell broke lose.

Illya and Nicholaí pulled Nada and the baby to cover behind a pile of large stone blocks, fallen from the fortress walls and as soon as they spotted the Secret Police; they opened fire.

It was a fierce gunfight, with both Illya and Nicholaí taking down the agents. The gunfire ceased, and Nicholaí stood to go to Nada and the baby. Grisha at this point was screaming his lungs out.

There was a single shot, and Nicholaí fell to the ground. The young blond looked on in shock for a moment, but then turned and dispatched the shooter, one of the KGB men who had merely been wounded. Illya finally stood, passing the body of Nicholaí as he knew a dead man when he saw one, and headed straight for the woman and the baby.

He gasped, seeing Nad had taken a bullet to the head, and was also dead. There was blood everywhere, and Illya picked up the baby, examining his bloody soaked clothes, finding that he too had been hit. Illya ripped a piece of cloth from the baby's blanket, and tied a tourniquet around Grisha's leg to help stop the bleeding.

In an adult it would have not been a fatal wound, but to a child only a month old...Illya had no idea if the boy would live or die. He stood, mostly in shock, thinking of what to do next, and decided he needed to get medical attention for the child as quickly as possible.

Illya paused, performing the grisly task of removing Nicholaí's finger, and retrieving his identification. If he indeed made it back to Moskva in one piece, these were trophies he would need to save his own miserable life.

He left the bodies all where they lay; the scene would show a gun battle that went bad, but just in case, Illya planted his beloved Tokarov in Nada's hands if in the event everything was looked at carefully by police. His gun in Nada's hand might place him there but then again not.

Illya climbed into the sedan, placing Grisha on the seat beside him and drove off, not knowing where to find help. When he reached the far side of the Ladozhsky Bridge he abandoned it, heading to where he'd left the little Pobeda.

He looked down at Grisha, who'd become very quiet, and touching the child's cheek; he realized the baby was dead. Illya spotted a small church in the distance and headed there with the body of little Grigori, intending to bury the little innocent. He could not bear the idea of abandoning the baby's body as he had the child's parents.

It was a small wooden orthodox church, one that had obviously been abandoned a long time ago, and he located the nearby graveyard. There beneath the statue of an angel, Illya dug out a shallow grave with a a flat stone, and buried the baby there, covering it with more stones to protect it from wildlife.

"Forgive me Grigori Nickovich Alexandrov, it is my fault you and your parents are dead." Illya looked up at the sky, though no longer believing in God he somehow felt compelled to speak out. "My plan was foolhardy from the start." he moaned, tears streaming down his cheeks as he blamed himself for the catastrophe that had befallen this poor family.

"If you are really there God, then take this little lamb to your side. He was truly an innocent in all this and not deserving of his fate. And if you do not do that for him, then I say again, to hell with you." Illya cursed, still not forgiving God for taking away his own family, and leaving him alone in life at such a young age. *

Illya made his way back to the Pobeda, and found it undisturbed. He climbed into the small car with a sigh and started the engine, putting it into gear; and beginning his trek back to Moskva. Would they accept the story he's tell them though it would be full of half-truths? That remained to be seen and if not, then he'd most likely join Nicholaí and his family in death.

.

At last when Illya stood exhausted before Vetochkin in his office, he told only parts of the story with some alterations... that Alexandrov had made a run for it with a woman and child and he followed them north. They were set upon by KGB agents and in the ensuing gun battle, Nicholaí and his family were killed along with the agents.

"Though I did not make the kill myself, here is proof Alexandrov is dead." He tossed the bloody finger on Vetochkins desk.

"Still, you managed to survive even with KGB interference. What does it matter I suppose, the man is dead by their hands, instead of yours, but your pursuit of your target was admirable and is proof you were indeed loyal to your orders.

Illya let go a barely perceptible breath, as he'd been holding it. He was safe...but at what cost?

"What about KBG, will there not be an investigation into the disappearance of their men?"

Vetochkin laughed. "Let them investigate all they want. If they inquire about you, they will be told that Alexandrov over powered you and escaped. That will offer an explanation as to why your Tokarov was at the scene, though Nicholaí's missing finger might be problematic. Let us hope the wildlife have their way with the bodies before they are found, It will most likely be days before KGB realizes something is amiss."

"Yes Comrade Vetochkin," Illya snapped his heels in salute."May I have your permission to go?"

"Not yet. You have performed admirably and I have a new assignment for you Comrade Kuryakin. You are being sent to the closed city of Gorky and there you will monitor the scientists to ensure their cooperation and loyalty. Given you excelled in the sciences while in school, you will make an ideal candidate for this position. Now you have my permission to leave. Go home, rest and get yourself some good food...you are too skinny."

Vetochkin tossed him several Kopecks, though Illya eyed them suspiciously.

"A bonus Comrade for a job well done." Vetochkin smiled. "I will expect timely reports from you once you have settled in at your new assignment. Now dismissed."

"Thank you Comrade Vetochkin," Illya saluted again.

He left the Directorate in a bit of a daze. He'd pulled it off, saving his own ass, but at the price of innocent lives; that guilt he would carry for a long time. He should have been the one to die, not Nicholaí and his family.

It was history repeating itself again. He should have died with his family during the war, yet he alone survived. He should have died in the concentration camp yet again but again he alone survived, and now he should have died at Oreshek. Why did he live while others around him did not?*

Uncle Vanya had told him he would grow to do good things in life and be a good man...but now he wondered at what cost?

Soon he would head out to Gorky, and another chapter in his short life would begin. Where would it truly take him?

Illya tucked his feelings away, burying them again where they belonged. It was back to business and doing as he was told, still if he had to decide again, he probably would have taken the same path he had with Nicholaí and his family. He had offered them a chance at life, though that chance was fraught with risks, it was better to die trying, was it not? They were still willing to try in spite of the danger. What was life without the willingness to take a gamble to survive?

The life of Illya Nickovich Kuryakin, he suspected, would go on as Uncle Vanya had predicted, but for what purpose and in which direction, he had no idea...

.

* ref "Beginnings"


End file.
